


Dead on My Feet

by huddledintrenches



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huddledintrenches/pseuds/huddledintrenches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fergus trying to come to terms with his feelings for Adam in the most unhealthy ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead on My Feet

The first boy you kiss is a stranger, but it’s either him or your best friend and you’d rather destroy the boy than him.  
The boy is beautiful in the way some girls are, which is why you choose him. His lips are red and glisten in the sun and when he speaks he sounds more like he’s singing than talking. You ought to be satisfied with him, you think as you run your fingers through his blond hair, because it’s girls you want and if it has to be a boy then surely someone like him is what you need.

But the boy doesn’t do the trick, and so you take the death toll up to two. You find him in a bar and you choose him because you think he’s what some people might consider handsome. He takes you back to a flat that stinks of whiskey and smoke and your stomach ties in a knot when you think of how much Adam would hate it here, and so you leave without an explanation before he can make you his.

The third one is suicide, because his grey hair and the way his shirt clings to his hips remind you of Adam, and he looks like he’s begging for it, and your answer will be his epitaph. He tells you that you’re beautiful in a way that you can accept and you think that if he was a bit more like Adam you could love him, but that thought alone makes you run away before the dawn breaks the next morning, and hope it’ll be easy to forget him.

The fourth boy dies in a seaside town at a party conference, after a few drinks too many and a text from Adam telling you he’s pulled. You have to make yourself drunk to like him enough to sleep with him, but you do, and you hate Adam for it because it’s his fault you’ve gotten yourself into this mess and you don’t think you’ll ever get out of it. When you bury the boy’s body in your head the next morning you think you’ve never fucked up so badly before and for the first time your best friend isn’t here to fix it.

It’s the fifth boy you really ruin, and it’s torture, for both of you, and you don’t whisper his name when you come because you never even asked for it, never cared, but when you shut your eyes his lips almost taste like you think Adam could. You don’t remember anything about him when you walk away, only that you deserve to die and you hate that he didn’t understand that and hurt you like Adam does.

Your best friend is watching you too much lately. You realise this and you think it’s sick because the way he makes you feel is wrong, is yet another proof that you’re wrong, and you don’t want to kill him with the way you love but you think you’re going to have to.  
You hope to God he doesn’t find out what you’ve been up to, and so naturally he does. He comes over one Sunday evening only to find number six, the one who got away because he talked too much and the way he moaned under you was too pathetic to be anything like Adam. He sees him just as he’s leaving your flat, wearing one of your shirts because that’s all you could find and hand to him in a sad attempt to get him out of there without having to look at him just one more time.

Your best friend knows about your crimes but he doesn’t hand you in, doesn’t even talk about it and that scares you even more than waiting for him to find out did. You want to understand it but the look in his eyes when he faces you now makes you feel like he’s going to be your lucky number seven. So you stay away and hate yourself for it, because you were sad and lonely ever since you knew you there was going to be a number one, and it’s gotten worse now that he knows.

You feel like a child in the back of a car with him, when he tells you your lines to say for later on. But you know what he wants you to say and you know you’re going to fuck up anyway, so you concentrate on the way the lines on his face move around the words that he says, and on his hands resting in his lap, occasionally sparking upwards to illustrate a point and you think that if he continues being so toxic to you you won’t make it out of this car alive.

So in the end you let him kill you the first chance he gets, against a wall, after work, when he insists on coming up for a drink even after you’ve protested, again. His kisses are rough, and you like the way they hurt in the sweetest way. You think your blood ought to splatter onto his shirt because he’s tearing you apart just by touching you, but the only thing it does is rush to your head and you think you like this, and that even if you shouldn’t, Adam does too.  
You don’t have to be drunk to enjoy this and the fact that you like this confuses you. Confuses you like Adam has done for so long now, who never stops to make you wonder and you think that if he’ll let you touch him you’ll understand the way he fits together.  
So you undress him, and what you discover is not what you expect, but you’re fine with that because it’s Adam and Adam has never done anything but astound you.  
He doesn’t speak when he takes you apart and the fact that he doesn’t have to say anything to do this kind of thing to you makes you all the more impressed.   
You think you could love kissing him, could love the way he feels when he touches you, could even grow confident like he is doing it, and maybe Adam could teach you how to be better at it too. He moans into your ear when he thrusts into you, but it’s not pathetic the way he does it. He makes you forget how to talk, then, splitting you open and making you beg for more, and normally you would be disgusted by the way you open yourself up to him like this, but you’re enjoying it too much to even think about that now. And then you’re falling, in your head, into his arms, and he catches you.  
You think you could love him, and when you tell him he just laughs because he knows that you do, of course.

You decide you don’t like boys, after him, and not men either. It’s always just been Adam for you.


End file.
